


The Curious Case of Prowl the Drug Dealer

by pjlover666, silberstreif



Series: Collaboration [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, Drugs, Goodies, Humour, Insanity, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the chaos of War drugs aren't an unknown way to seek relief and both leaders tend to look away from such deals. Of course that goes right out of the window when Megatron's soldiers get high right in front of the Autobot's base and Prime's SIC looks very much responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of Prowl the Drug Dealer

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Skylar_Matthews (at least for parts, because we subjected the whole thing to a few rewrites)
> 
> Also: Sanity had nothing to do with this story.

**The curious case of Prowl the drug dealer**

 

 

The giant metal doors protecting one of the most secure bases of the Autobots had seen many things. They had survived bombings and sabotages; battles had been fought in front of them, mechs had walked out the giant doors only to never come back. Mechs could only guess how much history they held. One could say they had witnessed many things, and even argue they had seen it all.

And that statement was true. Until tonight.

"Prowleeeer!" Jazz's voice broke the quiet of the night as he giggled and yelled again, "I'm hooooome!"

The saboteur’s body swayed from one side to the other, unstable on its feet, yet Jazz never fell down. Littered with dents, scuffs, scorch marks, a missing sensor horn and cracked visor; the side of his helm even seeped a little stream of energon, yet Jazz had one of the goofiest smiles on his face.

"And lookie what I brought! New recruits! And they're really good at torture! We need ‘em!" He yelled at the hidden camera, knowing where it was placed, while behind him Bonecrusher was digging a hole in the ground. Scavenger was sitting in the dirt and arguing with himself about screws and where not to put them if you want to do screwing, occasionally delivering a slap or two to his face before the argument would resume.

Plus, the burning Seeker in the sky currently flying in an 8-pattern over and over again was quite noticeable. Even if Jazz's maniac giggles and banging on the huge metal doors didn't attract attention, then the burning Sunstorm would surely be enough to send every Autobot in a ten mile radius straight into panic mode.

Prowl could only stare at the monitor screen and try his hardest not to crash. Though in a moment of clarity he really wondered why he bothered to witness _this_ insanity longer than necessary. He had thought Red Alert had fritzed again with his strange comm, proclaiming Jazz had been reprogrammed and was now trying to "invade" their base. Which couldn't be the case, because about a meta-cycle ago Jazz had been captured during a mission at the Decepticon's base in the Badlands. 

Prowl knew this for a fact, as he had the unfortunate duty to listen to Megatron's call that had the sole purpose to gloat that he had their best saboteur and was very much enjoying torturing him. And weren't the poor Autobots scared that their comrade would break and spill everything? Of course, Megatron was already looking forward to eventually killing the spy if the Autobots didn't give in to his demands. Demands that the Autobots couldn't afford to perform and were just a nanoclick away from 'please turn over Cybertron and the moons and kill yourself, thank you'.

And thus, Prowl had taken it upon himself to try and save his lover before the torture became too much. Jazz could hold his own against interrogation. It's the damages after he was freed that were ... problematic. 

The Prime entered the command room, which was full with curious Autobots, just as Prowl ordered Megatron to be called. To say that Prowl was angry would be understatement. He was livid! What had they done to Jazz? A virus? A reprogram? A drug? Worse? There had been rumors about parasites and experiments... 

"Ah, my favorite, heroic Prime." Megatron's smirking face filled the screen. "So good of you to call." 

"Megatron." Optimus acknowledged the other as neutrally and professional as possible.

"Say, has your missing spy crawled his way back to your base already? If I read your face right, he has, indeed. That is fast, considering the state he was in."

At Prowl's side Prime nearly snarled, but took a moment too long to find an answer. Sadly, Megatron had always the upper edge in verbal duels, which was why the Autobots had long ago drilled their Prime with 150 catchphrases and quotes to be used in the right moment. What saved them all from hearing one of them, was that a certain Second in Command had no such problems.

"What did you do to him?" Prowl asked, optics narrowed. 

The Warlord raised an optic ridge. "You don't know already?"

"No." The one word could have frozen entire planets.

"My, my. I guess then, that you haven't let him inside, even though he obviously needs treatment? And here I thought you Autobots would leap at the chance to get that crazy mech back."

Crazy mech was a very accurate description at the moment. Prowl looked at the screen again, where Jazz was talking to himself (or maybe to the finger he was wriggling in front of his visor), mentioning Prowl's name a few times. The hole, where his helm-horn had been, sparkled brightly from the short-circuits. 

Prowl forced himself to look away from that disturbing sight and glared at the Warlord with all the contempt a few million vorns long war could produce. Megatron smiled.

"That you tortured him is fine, but drugs? Really, that's a new low." 

"Tsk, tsk." The smile got a sharper edge. "Really, that you would think so low of me. I am shocked, I say. Those were _your_ drugs after all, Commander Prowl."

What-?! Prowl could only stare heatedly at the screen, for once suffering the same condition as his leader, unable to find any suitable reply. At least he managed to refrain from gaping, and so everyone observing the unfortunate conversation thought he was just trying to show that Megatron's intimidating words weren't affecting him. 

Prowl and drugs? Unheard of! Sure, everyone knew through some whispered accounts or fuzzy memories from a party that Jazz liked to mess around from time to time. He was Ops, it came with the job, but never when it came down to missions, and never something serious. Certainly, if Jazz had a choice he would have never reduced himself to this and just as certainly Prowl would rip Megatron's claim apart any astrosecond now.

Any astrosecond.

And then, suddenly, the tactician muttered, "... never mind."

The Autobots stared in utter surprise at their verbal champion that had just thrown the towel.

Optimus Prime, who had been prepared to jump in and defend the honor of his Autobots, blinked in utter surprise. "Prowl?" Then, he frowned, slowly turned to look at his SIC and utilized conversation rule #11 (if in doubt repeat the claim as a demand for more information) " ... your drugs?"

"No!" Prowl was quick to say. Too quick. 

"Oh yes," purred Megatron.

Optimus Prime looked from his gleeful arch nemesis to his stoic friend and back and decided that at the moment Megatron was certainly more cooperative. Probably a first. So he turned towards Megatron and utilized rule #11 again. "His drugs?"

Megatron nodded gently. "Yes, Jazz kindly described that the Chief Tactician loves making them in his free time. And not only that, he loves testing them on Jazz."

Prowl paled and Optimus stepped forward, flanking his friend. "Impossible! Stop with your lies!" (Quote #89)

"Lies, my dear Optimus?" Megatron shook his head in mock-sadness. "I'm afraid, it's the truth. Take a look." 

And suddenly a video started playing:

_"...Energon goodies?" The few Decepticons in the torture room laughed at the battered Jazz as they looked over the goodies in their servos. Jazz, for his part looked like he was barely staying online. At his right pede lay his sensor horn - obviously it had been ripped off just a few moments ago. The merciless pain from the feedback was showing itself with every spark from the wound that made Jazz twitch again and again._

_"I admit, I expected something a bit more dangerous in his subspace," drawled Starscream, who was leaning against the wall. "But then I suppose that we just keep overestimating the common sense of the average Autobot."_

_Megatron stepped into the picture and looked at the goodies with a certain interest. The other Decepticons fell silent. "Those are handmade." The sudden grin on his face could have made a sharkticon envious._ _"So, who is this special mech in your ranks that has not forgotten the art to bake, huh?"_

_When Jazz didn't answer, Soundwave smacked him hard over his exposed circuitry, forcing him to cry out in pain._

_"...Prowler," was all Jazz could stammer._

_For a moment there was absolute silence in the cell._

_"... Prowl, the second in command, your Chief Tactician?" asked Megatron to be sure, optics ridge raised high in disbelief._

_"Yeah. That Prowler."_

_The Decepticons looked at each other with barely hidden astonishment._

_"So, the ice cold drone of a tactician who is said to never smile, to not have a spark... is baking sweets as a hobby," summarized Starscream with a raised optic brow. "Never would've thought."_

The feed ended and Prowl's only reaction had been to cross his arms. The other Autobots shuffled uncertainly. While it was a bit embarrassing to see one of their officer's hobbies revealed through Megatron himself, and really no one would have guessed Prowl as a baking mech, none of them saw quite the connection between those sweets and whatever was up with Jazz and those three Decepticons.

Just what was Scavenger doing there with that screw and... oh. Oh, never mind. They far preferred to look at Megatron at the drama directly in front of them. Because while every sane Autobot saw no connection, for one the clues had already formed a clear picture and he stepped forward.

"Traitor!" Red Alert yelled at Prowl, "You made those goodies with drugs!"

The Autobots looked shocked, Prime scandalized and Megatron as if he had just found Optimus Prime chained to his very own berth. Not that he had ever daydreamed of such a thing happening.

Prowl meanwhile ignored the Warlord on the screen and whirled around to face his paranoid best friend.

"I did not supply drugs to Jazz!" Prowl snapped.

Red Alert stalked forward. "But you do not deny that these were your goodies?"

"For Primus's sake..." The tactician vented deeply. "Yes, they were mine."

Megatorn leaned back in his far too comfortable chair. "Mmh, so you admit that Jazz had a full subspace of them, courtesy by you..." 

Prowl nodded, even though Megatron made him think of a turbofox on the hunt. For a moment, the tactician was tempted to zoom in Megatron's denta. Surely that mad mech hadn't sharpened them to fangs just to make his smiles more menacing...? Before he could contemplate that ridiculous line of thought for any longer, his Prime decided that he should maybe become more active and abandoned the rules and quotes.

"Prowl! You're not really a drug dealer, right?!" Optimus suddenly said, his tone holding the note of _'Oh Primus, please don't let me start searching for a new SIC now of all times.'_

"No! Prime, really, how can you even contemplate believing him...?"

Optimus looked sheepishly away.

"Well, I assure you those goodies were the cause," Megatron said non-helpfully. "But Prime, you can always give him to us, if that is a problem with your army's policy. My mechs seem to like his sweets very much..." 

Prowl groaned. It wasn't a secret that the Decepticons have been trying to recruit Prowl for vorns now, but so far the Praxian had been unmoved by the greatest of riches and promises of power.

Optimus looked at the small riot outside his base. Bonecrusher had started to dance the macarena, while letting his hips gyrate a lot sexier than any Autobot would have thought possible from. "...  Your soldiers seem to want to become my mechs now." If what Jazz said was true about them being new recruits... something which he by now seriously doubted. Was Jazz licking the door?!

Megatron replied almost bored. "That's just because you have a drug cartel. At least my army is clean."

Again, there was no quote or rule who seemed fit to answer that. Optimus could only helplessly stare and hope that his SIC would jump in once again.

"Well... he is kind of right," Red Alert muttered, dashing his leader's hope.

Prime growled.

Meanwhile outside, Jazz was not licking the door anymore. Wiping away the bleeding energon from his wounds, but still with the goofiest smile he could muster, Jazz had started to loudly proclaim his undying love to Prowl - or towards the door. There seemed to be not a lot of difference between these two for Jazz.

Despite of how bizarre that was, no one paid him much mind. Sunstorm who had started throwing fire against the rocks and yelled at them to 'Hail Primus' was a bit more concerning...

"So Prowl, having established that these were your goodies...  what is your current payment for these sweets?" Megatron asked.

Mortified, Prowl yelled, "I do not sell them!"

"Well, we will certainly not offer interfacing as Jazz has done," the Decepticons leader stated, sending a ripple of shock through the Autobots.

The Prime looked as if his reality had shifted and was suffering a minor break down at that statement. He probably was, but no one cared.

"Jazz does not pay me with interfacing!" Prowl said, doorwings twitching.

"No?" Megatron laughed. "Did I misunderstand him?" But there was no confusion on the Decepticons leader face as he turned back with a smirk to look at Soundwave. "Soundwave, you have some record, right? Would you show it to our enemies for clarity? Unfortunately, they seem to not believe our word alone..."

Soundwave stepped up behind his Lord and nodded. "Soundwave: Recorded - Record one starts: _'He really likes making the sweets, but I always make it up to him in the berth, y'know..._ '" 

Jazz voice coming from Soundwave was bad enough but the drunken - high - tone of them made the Autobots in the audience shudder. 

"Second recordingstarts: _''He sometimes feeds me with them in the berth after well... y'know, I've made him particularly happy...'_ '"

Optimus Prime felt faint. If Megatron weren't watching, he would've sat down. He knew his SIC and TIC were romantically involved, but he had always tried not to think about it! They were older than him and after the reformat they had shown him all the ropes and... He supposed it was like thinking about your own creators doing the horizontal tango.Just No. The mental images...

Plus, Prowl's mad blushing along with the twitching of his door wings didn't help matters. Hopefully, they could go back to the drug problem asap, or he would have to ask Ratchet for a mind wipe. Certainly, the old medic would understand the need of a young helpless creation like himself...?

"Do you have a more detailed description?" Red Alert suddenly asked. "Some image material would be helpful."

Prime's optics became wide in sheer horror.

Soundwave stepped forward. "Affirmative. Video sequence -"

"No!" Prime suddenly yelled, before he could stop himself. "Thank you, Soundwave that was quite enough!"

"Oh, really?" drawled Megatron.

"Yes." For once, the Prime's authority shined.

Prowl decided to at least try to save his last shreds of dignity. "Prime, please, Jazz has clearly been high when telling this! It shouldn't be taken seriously!" For some reson, he looked towards his lover on the screen for help - ah no. For Jazz any help would come to late. Prowl made a mental note to replace that door the moment they had time to do so. And maybe to ask Wheeljack if the door had any kind of AI, no matter how rudimental. If so, some long therapy sessions would be needed.

"Prowl," said Optimus far too reasonable, "You can't deny that Megatron makes a compelling case."

Can't deny? Oh, Prowl would deny to his last breath! But before he could even begin to do exactly that, Ratchet stormed into the room, wrench in hand, thunderous anger on his face.

"What the pit are you all waiting for? Aren't you going to let them in?!" He looked at Red Alert, the most likely culprit in his mind. "Are you waiting for Jazz to pass out or what?!"

Red Alert took one step back. "But the cons..."

"Are defectors!" snapped Ratchet.

"We don’t know that! They are high!" Red Alert pointed to the screen where the two ground-bounded Decepticons were now holding each other by the hands so they wouldn't fall off the planet, while singing something suspiciously similar to the sparkling song 'La Li Lu only Primus watches us...'.

"Red Alert is correct. They are very high and at the moment also very happy. Why not let them be out there a few joors longer?" Prowl tried to appear as professional as possible, never mind his current embarrassment as a drug dealer.

"Jazz too?" questioned Prime a bit surprised.

Prowl sighed. "... we might try to get Jazz inside. Somehow."

Red Alert crossed his arms. "Well, you're his lover and the tactician! So answer me this, how can we lure Jazz in without the rest, because I see some tiny problems with that!" 

"In his current state, maybe we can use a tranquilizer?" offered Optimus hesitantly.

"Sure, just give me Prowl's rifle and then forget the tranquilizer, because acid will be just as effective!" snarled the medic. "We do not even know what's already in his systems and then you want to force them into a cold-start? _No slagging way._ "

"Then we really have to lure him inside." Red Alert looked at Prowl. "Your turn. Ideas?"

Ratchet opened his mouth, then managed to look at the screen which was suspiciously empty of a certain saboteur. "Oh, for Pit's sake!"

Optimus blinked. "...Where did Jazz go?"

Red Alert stared, then sighed. "I said idea, not act now, Prowl!"

"I tried the most logical idea," Prowl defended himself.

"I'm expecting the worst," muttered Ratchet. 

Prowl continued as if he hadn't heard him: "I commed Jazz and offered him the one thing he can't resist in our room. Considering who he is and his skills, he will certainly not need any door to be opened." He swiped away a few imagined dust particles on his armor, his way of saying: 'Who is the best tactician in the house? Right, me.' After all, he just devised a plan to get away from Prime and Megatron, while at the same time getting Jazz into the safety of their quarters. "Now, please excuse me, I have to provide for Jazz."

Ratchet stopped the tactician on fast march out of the room. "Not so fast. He's been tortured! The only room he's going to is my med bay!"

"I will bring him to you," Prowl tried to assure him. "The best way might be to make Jazz less active..."

"Less active?" Ratchet smirked. "And just what do you want to do? Interface him until his tanks run dry?"

"Nothing so crude... After all, I promised him goodies. Just how high do you want him?

Ratchet stared, and he was not the only one. From Megatron Prime, everyone looked as if Prowl had just announced the apocalypse while declaring himself to be Primus long lost twin on a pogo stick. 

"... wait, you're gonna drug him more?!" Ratchet raised his wrench.

"No!" Prowl stepped back, eyeing the dangerous tool with a healthy amount of fear. "But we meet in our rooms. And they might be a bit... overflowing with sweets." 

"Overflowing," repeated Prime in shock, applying rule #11 once more.

Prowl decided, that it was time to go for broke. After all, he was already a drug dealer, his lover high as a kite, and Megatron still looked as if he had the best vorn of his life. As casual as possible he shrugged. "Yes, overflowing. I like making them and it would be better if I give him a goodie with lesser drugs, before he takes one at random."

On the screen, Megatron was during away, his backside trembling with suppressed laughter. Stoic Soundwave meanwhile looked just as stoic as ever - but the bright red visor was more than enough to convince everyone that he was recording the heck out of the situation.

"You didn't get rid of them yet?!" shrieked Optimus. He could feel how he was slowly losing it. Why, just why did the Matrix chose him and not some other gullible, well-meaning idiot with a martyr complex?

Ratchet on the other hand had absolutely no time for such existential contemplations. "He's been tortured, you idiot! His systems are strained as it is! Go there and make sure he doesn't eat a single sweet!"

"It might be a little too late for that," said Red Alert drily. Ironically enough, between all the stressed out Autobots, and hysterical Decepticons, he looked the calmest. After all, his paranoia had for once proven true, he understood the situation and had decided that it was controllable. His paranoia was happily humming in the back of his helmet, patting himself on a well-done job. 

As a result, he pointed at a screen showing a hallway nearly lazily. There was Jazz, happily leaving his and Prowl's quarters, while giggling like a sparkling. In his arms he was carrying more sweets than any of the officers (besides Prowl) had seen in vorns. Then Jazz abruptly stopped, ate a big, purple sweet and went on to walk on the ceiling.

The mechs could only stare as the mad saboteur made his way through the base upside down. And that's when he met someone...  

Optimus gave disbelief a voice as he faintly said, "He's giving a goodie to Sideswipe..."

"In my defense, I'm sure that I didn't mix palladium and yttrium with all of them..." said Prowl slowly. 

"Palladium and yttrium are no drugs," said Red Alert, still calm and as relaxed as any Autobot had ever seen him.

"No. But I confiscated those batches..." Prowl shrugged. "I did not test them beforehand."

"I see." Red Alert stretched and looked and his Prime. "Are you alright, Optimus?"

The Prime helplessly shook his head. "No! How could I?! Look at that, Sideswipe has now several dozen of them and... oh, he just reached the common room."

"Unicron be damned," cursed Ratchet. "Minibots have already sweets! Where did they come from so fast? We need a warning now!"

"Right," Optimus nodded and raced to the controls. A last glance at the screen showed Jazz cheerfully giving the goodies away to the Aerialbots. "TO ALL AUTOBOTS! DO NOT EAT THE SWEETS JAZZ IS PROVIDING!"

The words were still echoing through the base, when Ratchet said: "...they are ignoring you."

Obviously, rumour and fact had been far faster than Optimus' warning and few soldiers would say no to drugs from their very own - if drugged - officer. In fact, as Prowl looked around he noticed that the crowd that had watched the drama between Megatron and him before, had vanished. No doubt wanting to get some goodies.

For several klicks the four officers watched the unstoppable drug avalanche called Jazz spreading through their bases turning normal, controlled soldiers into giggling, overgrown sparklings.

Eventually Prowl sighed, feeling the processor ache coming. "Let us shut this base down, give the Decepticons as many sweets as they want so that they're in the same condition and call it a cease-fire. Any one against the plan?"

Prime gave him an incredulous glance, but Red Alert nodded. "Good idea."

"Soundwave: Agrees."

Megatron chuckled. "For once? No. I just demand ten crates of sweets."

"Done," said Prowl.

Prime raised his hand. "Wait a second..."

"Good," said Megatron, standing up from his chair. "Starscream has already professed his undying love for them and I have been waiting for holiday the last 23 million vorns..."

Ratchet twirled his wrench, then shrugged. "Whatever. During a cease-fire no one will be shot at least. And I told you all to take more vacations anyway."

Prime looked from one screen to another, before coming to the inevitable realization that he was overruled. "... let's do it and then never talk about it again."

Prowl gave him a glance. "As you order, sir."

"Right, and Prowl? I want you to never bake again."

True, pure shock raced through the Praxian. "But Prime!" What was he to do without his hobby? It was the only relaxation (besides Jazz, but then Jazz was a whole different bag of trouble) he could find these orns. Without baking, he would be a mess, no worse, he would be a suicidal, depressed, inefficient tactician...!

Megatron grinned. "You know where you are always welcomed here, Prowl. We'll supply you with a wonderful, big, steel kitchen and supplies...."

Prowl slowly looked at Megatron.

"And receipts of course... "

Prowl's optics became shiny.

"And time. Any good cook needs time. What about a joor every orn, more? We are open to negotiating..."

A whimper. Never before had the Decepticons leader been able to invoke any kind of emotion in Prowl when bribing him. And now Prowl looked ready to defect.

"Oh and those rare forms for cakes!"

Prime had enough. "MEGATRON! Don't poach my soldiers in front of me!"

"Only behind your back, right, my dear Prime?" Megatron winked towards Prowl. "You would be welcomed by my _entire_ army."

Prowl couldn't find the words - couldn't find the one right word 'NO'.

Red Alert managed to come out of his bubble of happiness enough to glare at the screen. Weakly glare, but Prowl appreciated it any way. "Now that offer sounded just creepy," The security officer scolded. "Maybe we shouldn't call this a cease-fire but a kindergarten..."

"What?" asked Prime. 

Red shook his head in disbelief. "Jazz is drawing J+P in hearts on the wall with his own energon from his helm, while the twins have started to court a table leg - I think they're trying to get it to abandon the other three legs." 

Ratchet nodded in contemplation. "Warpath has somehow managed to leave the base and his playing catch with Bonescrusher. At least I assume it is catch. It could also be some hugging and crawling game. Difficult to see..."

"I think it was once catch," said Red Alert. "Have you seen Ironhide?"

"Yes. He is accusing Prime's desk of evil and paperwork on screen 32. Oh, he just shot it."

The Prime shuttered his optics. Those were his most feared soldiers!

Ratchet shoved Prowl, who was still looking far too exciting about the option of a kitchen, towards the door: "Go. Get Jazz. NOW!"  He pointed at door in secret hope Prowl would leave before he decided to take a leaf from the book of his insane lover and to defect as well.

Prowl looked at Megatron then at the door: "... Jazz."

Megatron smiled almost gently and trustworthy. "Your lover would be welcomed too, of course. I'm sure he'll be a wonderful little helper in your own, big, beautiful kitchen."

Prime gave Megatron a look that promised pain in the near future.

"... I want to bake," whispered Prowl as if he had just admitted the most shameful thing in the universe.

Let it never be said, that Optimus didn't know when he had lost. "Fine, you can bake! Now stop Jazz! And you Megatron, when I get you....!" 

"My dear Prime, when you get me, you will try to do what you always try to do." He smiled a bit too wide. "I'm looking forward to it."

Optimus Prime turned to screen off, by hitting it with his battle axt and destroying it utterly. Then he stood up, looked at his three officers and said: "What? My hand slipped."

Red Alert nodded in understanding. "My hand slips like that a few times a decaorn as well. Afterwards I always feel strangely better."

"Ah, right." Prime shuffled from one pede to the other. 

Ratchet threw his wrench and hit the tactician: "You want to bake?! Prowl, your "baking" is the cause of Jazz to using his own energon as paint and every mech on this planet being high!"

Prowl crossed his arms. "That's not my fault. I just used the wrong ingredients and Jazz is by definition insane."

"And you're fragging with insane!" Ratchet wished he had a second wrench. "What about the other minibots? Have you seen what Cliffjumper is doing with his canon?"

"...no?"

Red Alert - always the curious, paranoid one - made the mistake to look. "Ack, Primus!"

"Exactly." Ratchet shook his head. "I'm in my med bay. Call me when everyone is sober or the world ends and not a klick before!"

When the medic had disappeared, Prowl shrugged: "I guess this is my cue to be with Jazz." He looked at the screen, where the saboteur was calling Smokescreen 'Prowl'. Now that was just unacceptable. "Please excuse me."

Left were the smoldering screen, Optimus Prime and Red Alert who looked with barely hidden amusement at the screens and watched the disaster unfold. Then, suddenly Red Alert stood up. 

"I've decided that those sweets need a more intimate research by myself. Are you in, Optimus?"

Optimus blinked, then shrugged. "Why not."

After all, he was far too young to miss this out, leader and matrix carrier or not. Right?

Right.


End file.
